Wishing, Wanting
by thewildwilds
Summary: Birthdays don't come naturally to Peko. (And yet, she is surprised, all the same, when it arrives every year without fail.)


When she is still a child, Peko remembers sharing her birthday.

She means that quite literally. Of course, she's known of the day she'd been discovered by the Kuzuryuu clan as an infant. It's on all the paperwork they carry to keep her in the system. That's not a secret.

But it doesn't take her long to realize her birthday is treated… differently. While she's witnessed increasingly elaborate celebrations for everyone else, the end of June never brings in extra food or cakes or presents.

She understands.

It's Fuyuhiko who comes up with the idea to celebrate their birthdays together. If they can't have a party on the actual day of her birth, then he'll share his so they can have twice the fun.

Fuyuhiko's birthdays are always grand occasions. Family and clansmen come from all over the country to wish a happy birthday to the next clan heir. The estate is packed to the brim with his uncles and cousins and friends. She sticks close to Fuyuhiko, clutching onto his sleeve so neither of them will be swallowed by the crowd.

Fuyuhiko is, of course, happy to share his birthday with her. His parents think it's just a game they play. They think he's learning how to be the boss when he asks her to open some of his presents in his stead. At the time, it's not a big deal to let the children be children before they are ready to handle the responsibilities imprinted upon them, and she never tries to covet any of Fuyuhiko's new toys for herself. (He has enough competition with Natsumi already.)

She knows the day doesn't belong to her. It shows as much when the guests give their sentiments to Fuyuhiko and Fuyuhiko alone, but it doesn't mean she cannot enjoy the day in its own right. And besides, it's hard not to smile when Fuyuhiko is beside her, looking happier than she can ever remember. He smiles so big, crumbs of spongecake still sticking to the corners of his mouth, and he takes her hands in his and tells her there are more party games they can play together.

She follows him, happily. She could never ask for anything more.

* * *

They are nine years old when the young master refuses to share his birthday anymore.

She is relieved more than anything. It's been nearly two years since learning of her duties, and to share something as important as the young master's birthday would be most indecent.

But every year, the young master always starts acting odd in June. It feels like he is on edge, like he thinks someone will pop out of the shadows to assassinate him. (He shouldn't have to worry; she will make sure that never happens, but when she mentions as much, he reprimands her for "thinking something so stupid.") He asks her strange questions, and while they are not exclusive to the month, they happen most frequently in June. _What do you like? Is there anything you want? What's something you wish you had?_

She doesn't know how to answer them. She can't. He shouldn't be concerning himself with such a trifling matter, and besides, it's selfish. She may be duty-bound, but tools have no _want_ for anything.

Once, she catches the young master trying to grab a stray cat from its perch on the perimeter wall. (She recognizes the cat as one she'd tried to pet a week ago, but it had arched its back at her and hissed before scampering away.) She wants to help, but she knows the poor creature won't like her presence any more than his, so she doesn't try.

He makes a fatal mistake when he tries to yank the cat off the wall by its tail, and it scratches up his face something awful. She hurries over to see if he's all right, but he pushes her away and tells her not to worry about it.

Another year, he drags her down by the riverside at sunset without warning. He plops down in the grass, orders her to sit next to him, and doesn't speak for an hour. She sits beside him without complaint. She doesn't mind the silence so much, but it's odd for him to be so quiet for so long. When the young master finally decides to return home, he asks her what she thought.

"What I… thought?" she repeats. _Of… what?_

"Yeah," he replies, and it does nothing to explain what he means.

It's not her place to ask the young master for more than he's already given. She should _know._ It's the reason why she'd been given to him as an infant: so she could _know_ what he wants and how to achieve it at the drop of a hat.

"I think you are doing well as the clan heir and I am honored to be serving you," she says resolutely.

It's not the right answer. The young master grits his teeth and reprimands her some more, and further attempts to appease him are in vain.

It happens time and time again, this odd yearly ritual that's as erratic as it is expected. Sometimes he stares at her and sometimes he launches himself into these endless tirades and sometimes he tries to skirt around her periphery when he thinks she isn't looking.

Puberty must be a very, very confusing time for him.

She pushes aside any frustration she may feel (she doesn't, she can't), because she knows they must be nowhere near the young master's. He has so much riding on his shoulders. She already owes the family so much for saving her life. The least she can do to repay them is to give the young master one less thing to worry about.

Still, she wishes she knew what was bothering him so much, so she could try and fix it, if she can.

* * *

Her first celebrated birthday on the island is a disaster.

The first couple of years, she'd been too ill, too pathetic to bother with something so trivial. Even after she'd regained the ability to walk and move on her own, she still hadn't cared. Her birthday was just a day, like any other day that came and went, but she supposes her former classmates had wanted to celebrate her recovery with something special. (Or perhaps they'd decided a girl who never celebrates her birthday is just too sad.)

So when she walks into the lobby only to be greeted by everyone jumping out and screaming, "Happy birthday!" she's wholly unprepared.

Every muscle in her body locks up at once. She stands there at the door for an uncomfortable second, wide-eyed, and tries to remember her breathing exercises. She catches Fuyuhiko's eye from across the room, just for a moment, but she doesn't miss the way his face falls, even when she looks away.

"Thank you," she says, the words forced through her teeth.

For the next aching hour, she is passed from group to group, the subject of attention she doesn't want. They shove a plastic cup in her hands and usher her over to the food spread and tell her she can have whatever she craves.

"Thank you," she says again, because it feels like the right thing to say, and it won't get her strange looks.

It's a cacophony of noise and colors and people. Sonia says this, and Mioda says that, and Nidai wants to show her something else, and Peko wants to curl away from them all, find a corner and cover her ears and close her eyes until she tucks into the darkness once more.

Fuyuhiko keeps trying to set up painfully obvious opportunities for her to slip away. ("You seem kinda tired, do you wanna call it in early?" "Did you forget your coat? Why don't you go back to your room and get it?" "Hey, don't you have to wake up early tomorrow?") She doesn't latch onto any of them, for some reason, caught between what everyone expects of her and what she wants once more.

It's _fun._ She's supposed to be having _fun._

Her anxieties only mount when Hanamura wheels out a two-tier cake decked in candles, and everyone starts singing.

"Make a wish!" says Hanamura, and everyone is watching; she is mortified. She screws her eyes shut and blows as hard as she can.

 _She wishes this night were over._

She joins conversations she can't follow and eats cake she doesn't care for. She feels so close to the breaking point. (The urge to grab the nearest chair and smash it against the food table grows stronger and stronger with each passing second.) Before she can do anything truly regrettable, however, Hinata takes one look at her and says they should start wrapping it up.

Fuyuhiko finds her again, when it's all over. He looks like he is at war with wanting to touch her and giving her space; in the end, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

"I'm so, so sorry," he despairs.

"It's not your fault," she says, and goes back to her room.

(He wishes he could say that he'd done something to stop it, this disaster of a birthday party. He wishes he could say that he'd known better, that he'd known _her_ better, but in truth, he'd been just as hopeful as everyone else. He _wanted_ her to have a special day that was all her own, for once, and the fact that he'd been unable to foresee the consequences clinches painfully at his heart. He should have known. He _should_ have.)

They are both riddled with guilt for days. He forgets how to approach her, and she doesn't know the magic words to make it okay, and it feels like it always does when they slip up: back at square one.

They face each other, eventually, because they must. Fuyuhiko can barely look her in the eye when he tells her what was going on in his head, and he apologizes no less than six times. (She already knows what he meant, and maybe that's why it's been so hard.) She feels idiotic that she couldn't make it through a simple birthday party without teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

They discuss. They bicker. They dance around the heart of the subject until she finally manages to wrangle together the words they both need: the sentiment was right but the execution was all wrong.

After reassurances, they decide on no more surprise parties for her.

It doesn't feel like a resolution, not really. They cannot wrap up their problems with neat little bows. They don't know where they go from here, or how to adjust or reorient themselves, but they at least have a direction: forward. Always forward.

That's probably the best they can strive for.

* * *

The next year fares much better. They make great strides in their healing, as individuals and as a pair.

When June rolls around again, the others have learned enough too; they know how to behave. She'll accept well-wishes and a few gifts (Satoru knits her a blanket, and Souda gives her a painting he made in art therapy), but she doesn't want any decorations or music.

(She's still not sure if she's entirely _happy._ There's still this air, this hard awareness of her presence when she walks into the room, even if no one says anything. She doesn't like it, but she cannot control it, and that's another lesson she must learn.)

In the morning, Fuyuhiko comes to her, red-faced, and asks if he can make her dinner for her birthday.

She accepts. He asks if Japanese food is okay. She accepts. He asks if seven o'clock is a good time, and she accepts that too.

But he goes a bit overboard, as he is wont to do when he is trying hard to be considerate. He asks if he can wear a suit, and if they can eat by candlelight, and if flowers on the table are okay. It's wholly unnecessary, and a bit overwhelming, but she accepts all these too.

They'll adjust.

She appreciates it far more than she can say, though, and she discovers it's very enjoyable to have something to look forward to, even if only for a day. She thinks about it, all while she mops the halls in the east wing, and reads in the library, and helps Nidai fix the leaky roof in the kitchen, and when she walks back to her room that evening, she fully expects to see Fuyuhiko there. He's finishing setting up the fold-out table, placing down bowls of hot miso soup. There's a small vase of fresh plumerias in the center.

"Happy birthday," he says, smiling.

"Thank you," she says, smiling.

It's a simple dinner, very modest, but also very thoughtful. The grilled mackerel looks a bit overdone, and the cucumber slices in the salad are limp, but the yakitori is one of her favorites, and he's done well for having barely cooked a day in his life. He pulls out her chair for her before sitting in his own.

(In the back of her mind, she sees a flash of a man sitting across from her, towering and foreboding and smoking a cigarette while he lies about how her parents abandoned her. She pushes it aside; those thoughts have no place here tonight.)

"Sing for me?" she asks playfully.

"You're kidding," he gripes.

She is, mostly. It is good to find reasons to laugh, she's found, even if they are small ones, but he surprises her, once again, when he actually starts singing, slow and even, lightly clapping his hands to the rhythm. She claps along with him, because she can.

" _Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Peko, happy birthday to you."_

She applauds for real when he's finished. Fuyuhiko has a lovely voice, clear and smooth; it's always warmed her to the core, burrowing deep into this space in her chest that flutters like a hummingbird.

"Thank you," she enthuses.

"Make a wish," he says.

There's no cake for her to blow out the candles (at her request), but she does what he suggests and closes her eyes and wishes.

He's smiling when she opens her eyes again. She asks what he's smiling about, but he just shakes his head, and that makes his mouth curve wider. It makes her want to smile too, so she does. After a few seconds of just smiling at each other without saying anything, they pick up their chopsticks and tuck into their dinner.

She's not sure if she's given into hope yet that her wish will come true.

But perhaps wanting, in itself, is already good enough.


End file.
